


Meet Me in the Woods

by BlueMoonRoses



Series: Horror Movies [4]
Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonRoses/pseuds/BlueMoonRoses
Summary: The smile on the real estate agent’s face falls a bit.“Are you sure?” she asks hesitantly, her expression turning into an odd mix of a customer service smile and trepidation. “There are other properties I can show you that are less… secluded.”“I’m sure.”





	Meet Me in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly based off of the 2009 remake of Friday the 13th, but this fic doesn't strictly follow it. So the timeline might be a little weird.
> 
> Also, why do a lot of the fics on here portray Jason as being illiterate? Especially when he's been described by his writers as being intelligent and clever? Like yeah, he didn't attend school like other kids, but I highly doubt his mom wouldn't have taught him how to read and write.
> 
> (I swear, I haven't forgotten about my other fics in this series, I'm just taking a short break from them to plan things out a bit better and also so I don't burn myself out writing them.)

The smile on the real estate agent’s face falls a bit.

“Are you sure?” she asks hesitantly, her expression turning into an odd mix of a customer service smile and trepidation. “There are other properties I can show you that are less… secluded.”

“I’m sure.”

The real estate agent – Ms. Tammy Werner, you finally remember as you glance at the nameplate on her desk – throws a mildly panicked look to one of her co-workers who look just as perplexed as she does. You’re not a local, but you’ve heard the superstitions, about the supposed _‘Curse of Crystal Lake,’_ and honestly, you don’t buy any of it. There’s a lot of variations of the curse, but they all basically boil down to _‘Crystal Lake is a death trap.’_ Which works out pretty well in your opinion; all you want is solitude, some peace and quiet and to be _alone._

So if everyone is too afraid to go near the lake you’ll finally get what you want.

Recovering from her shock, Ms. Werner gives you a strange, almost pleading look. “Alright. I can take you to the property, let you get a good look at it before you commit to it, and — Are you _sure?”_

You’ve never been more sure of anything else in your life.

~*~

The house is set far back in the woods, a barely maintained dirt road the only way to get to it.

Ms. Werner shows you around, but there honestly isn’t a lot to see; the house is by no means tiny, but with only a kitchen and a large main room on the first floor and two rooms on the second floor, it isn’t a big place either. You can tell from just looking at it that the house has been sitting empty for quite a while, the paint on the exterior is peeling and there’s a thin layer of dust on the sparse furnishings inside.

You’ll have your work cut out for you, that’s for sure.

“I’ll take it,” you tell her after you’ve finished wandering around the house, meeting her back in front of the place.

Letting out a quiet sigh, a resigned expression falls on Ms. Werner’s face.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” she says before turning towards the woods, motioning for you to follow her. “Since you’re so set on living here, I figure it’s only fair to warn you.”

You fight back the urge to roll your eyes as you pass by thick clusters of pines and oaks and spruces. If it’s more superstitious nonsense—

Ms. Werner stops so abruptly that you nearly run into her. She points at something in the distance and you squint to see what it is and—

And it’s a red pole, no higher than maybe your hip, just out in the middle of the woods.

“No matter what, don’t ever go past that point,” she warns you. You’d make a joke, but the seriousness in her voice stops you. “There’s nothing good for you on that side of the lake. It doesn’t matter what you see, or what you hear; just leave it alone.”

She heads back towards the house, but you stay there, staring at the brightly painted metal jutting up from the earth. There’s something ominous about it, and it’s not just because of Ms. Werner’s warning. Maybe it’s just seeing something so unnaturally bright standing out against the dark greens and browns, something that clearly doesn’t belong.

You stare at it for a while longer, until a particularly strong breeze chills you to the bone, and you finally turn around and follow after Ms. Werner.

There’s the sound of a twig snapping behind you that’s nearly deafening in the near silence of the forest, but when you look over your shoulder there’s nothing there.

~*~

You never thought you’d end up living in New Jersey.

But then again, you never thought you’d lose the only family you ever cared about.

It was silly. No one lives forever, but your cousin dying had never really crossed your mind. He was always someone who you always thought would be around forever. Just completely untouchable by death.

It was a foolish thing to think.

You stare at your reflection in your hotel room’s mirror above the sink, mismatched brown and green eyes unflinchingly staring back. Reaching up with one hand, you gingerly touch the completely healed, but only slightly faded scars that trail from the corner of your mouth to where they cluster around your brown eye. They’re still rough to the touch, a constant reminder of how lucky you had been that night.

Even now, you can still hear the shrill shriek of metal on metal, can still smell the smoke of the ruined engine, and you can still feel the vicious weightlessness of rolling with the impact.

If you close your eyes, hide away from your reflection, you can still see the broken glass, the deep red blooming across the wet pavement like watercolor paint.

Gripping the edge of the counter tightly enough to turn your knuckles bone white, you let out a shaky breath, and do your best to carefully tuck those thoughts and memories away. You moved out here to the east coast for peace and quiet and solitude. To work through everything without the rest of your family breathing down your neck, reminding you with every look that it should’ve been—

Cursing under another shaky breath, you push away from the sink.

Instead of spending your last night in your hotel room sleeping, you lean against the window and watch the night pass by and give way to the day.

~*~

You pick up the keys to your house from the real estate agency after you check out of the hotel.

“Welcome to Crystal Lake, Mr. Swift,” Ms. Werner says with a tight smile. She hasn’t hidden her unease about the sale the entire time.

“Thanks.” You muster up as much of a smile as you can, weak as it is. There hasn’t been a lot to smile about in your life for a while now. “And you can just call me Asa.”

Her smile relaxes a bit, looking a bit more genuine.

“Well then you can call me Tammy. And if you don’t mind me saying, I think you’re nuts for actually wanting to live out there.”

One corner of your mouth hitches up a little higher as a quiet huff of amusement escapes you. Back home on the west coast, your family thinks the same thing about your sudden move here; they'd pretty much said the same thing, although they were a lot less nice about it than Tammy’s trying to be.

“Trust me, you’re not the only one who thinks so.”

~*~

Getting everything into your house is a little more difficult to do by yourself than you had originally thought.

The sky clouded over about half way here and by the time you finally pulled up the rain was coming down in a harsh downpour. With thunder cracking overhead, you have to rush from car to house and back again, dragging in your duffel of clothes, sleeping bag, the supplies for repainting the outside of the house, and the two boxes of your belongings you brought with, the rest on its way.

Not bothering with the lights – it’ll take at least a day or two before the power gets hooked up – you close the front door behind you. The inside of the house looks different in this lighting, the shadows looking a little darker. You crouch down and start digging through the cardboard boxes until you find the flashlight. It turns on alright, the batteries still good, but since there’s still enough natural light for you to still see by you turn it off again.

You start sorting your meager belongings as best you can; the sleeping bag, the boxes, and your duffel go upstairs in the biggest bedroom, and you stack up the painting supplies next to the front door. Sitting on the kitchen counter, you’re at a loss as what to do now. Sure, you could start cleaning the place – it could use a good wipe down, if you’re being honest – but that had been something that had slipped your mind when you had been still in town.

With a heavy sigh, you slide off the counter and head up to your room; might as well try to sleep. You make a list in your head of the things you’ll need to buy and that you’ll more than likely forget by morning.

Kicking off your boots and shedding your jacket, you curl up in your sleeping bag.

Exhaustion settles suddenly and heavily all the way down to your bones.

~*~

You’ve been staring at the wall for nearly two hours, watching as the last muted light of day fade entirely and the rain hasn’t let up at all.

Glancing at your phone, you think of all the text messages and voice mail that’s waiting for you that you should probably deal with at some point, but…

Sighing through your nose, you get up from the hardwood floor and move to the window seat, pulling your knees up enough to fold up your arms up and rest your head on top. The thunder and lightning come at intervals, lighting up the dark world outside your window enough to catch glimpses of it, to see the shadows dancing with the trees. You just sit there and watch long enough that you think you could probably drift off like this when you see something.

You only catch a glimpse of it, but there’s an odd reflection in the woods when the thunder crashes again. It’s something moving through the trees, and you lean forward until your forehead is pressed against the cold glass, trying to get a better look at what it is.

Another flash of reflected light from the dark tree line and all the hair on the back of your neck stands on end as your breath catches in your throat. Memories of metal on metal, tires squealing, the stench of blood…

You slap a hand over your mouth to keep in the scream that has been bubbling up in your throat, leaving you shuddering and gasping, teeth digging into the fleshier part of your palm.

But by the next flash of light the strange shadow is gone.

 _It’s just the storm,_ you tell yourself. _Your mind is just playing tricks on you. It’s probably just trash or something._

The rest of the night passes uneventfully after that, the rain slowing to a stop long before the sun starts to rise.

~*~

By the end of the week your house has working electricity, so you no longer have to rely on canned food or the occasional meal at the diner.

Unfortunately, the rain hasn’t really let up all that much so the clapboard siding has been left untouched, the peeling paint curling even further with the near constant downpour and humidity. That and the rest of your things have yet to arrive, but you were able to get some second hand cookware and furniture from the thrift store in town; it’s really just a kitchen table and some chairs and the small dresser in your room that leans awkwardly from an uneven leg.

 _At least the thunder has died down,_ you think as you stir the pot on the stove. You still don’t sleep well, but as long as it’s just the rain you don’t have to worry about dreaming about that night too much. When it does storm hard enough to thunder, you don’t even try to sleep. There’s no point when you’ll just keep startling yourself awake every half hour, heart beating painfully against your ribs every time.

The kitchen door creaks open on a particularly strong wind, the rain sounding louder through the screen door now. You roll your eyes but don’t bother trying to close it; the doorknob needs to fixed, the screws holding it in place a little too loose, and the lock is stuck open, but your nearest neighbor is a good mile away so you’re not really worried about strangers wandering in. That and it’s still summer, so you’re not particularly worried about freezing from just leaving the back door open either.

The door is still open after you finish your dinner and pack up the leftovers.

~*~

In the morning, you stare at the puddles of rain water that seemingly trail aimlessly across the kitchen floor.

 _An animal?_ you wonder as you inspect the screen door; there aren’t any tears in the mesh and it doesn’t look like it was forced open. Maybe the screen door’s latch needs to be fixed too? But no, when you test it, it works just fine.

A raccoon, then? Or maybe an opossum?

You’ve never had to deal with them before, having mostly lived in cities for a good portion of your life, but you wouldn’t be surprised if one decided to waltz on into your home in the middle of the woods. It was probably just looking for something to eat, and it looks like you forgot to put away your leftovers properly; it’s not the most unlikely thing to happen.

And you had been so sure you’d put everything away last night.

Well, it wouldn’t have been the first time something like this has slipped your mind. You can admit to being… spacey, especially for the past seven months. But you thought you had been getting better about that.

With a shrug, you pick up the half empty container and put it out on the back porch, on top of the rickety old table by the door; if an animal got into it, it’s theirs now as far as you’re concerned. Besides, you'd rather not risk catching rabies or ringworm.

When you check later, the food is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, Jason doesn't really show up just yet, other than him vaguely lurking in the woods (and possibly stealing food) in this chapter.


End file.
